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And the man turned on his heel and left Gordon standing half stupified at what he had heard. "Rum's done the business for you at last, my lark! I told you it would come to this!" said an old fellow workman, who heard what passed between Gordon and the employer. He spoke in a light, insulting voice.
"And I did so want to see the niggers in the sugar plantations, and taste real Jamaica rum. Say, Mas'r Harry, that stuff people drink in England's all gammon." "Why so?" I asked. "Because it's brown and yellow, like wine," he replied. "Real Jamaica rum's quite white."
Rum's my best friend when I fight dem." "Hear, hear!" another shouted. "Good fer you, Jerry! We're with you on that. Rum puts hell into us, an' makes us fight like the devil." "But the mast-cutters can fight, too," Norman reminded. "They are well armed, remember." "'Spose they are, what of it? They won't have time to use their guns. They'll all be asleep when we arrive."
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